


A Bit Late To Celebrate

by searchingforpeter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Champagne, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Polyamory, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingforpeter/pseuds/searchingforpeter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've all worked through their birthdays before, but this year Greg doesn't see why the day should end with an early night when there is so much more fun to be had while the night is young.</p><p>(My first official Mytheory fic dedicated to the wonderful potterotter on Tumblr, for her birthday! <3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit Late To Celebrate

“She's working on her birthday, My.”  
  


Greg's voice seemed to echo in the confines of the surveillance outpost, despite it being very close quarters. Outside, the wind whistled against the thin walls. The bad weather couldn't touch the reinforced steel door, but it was making a good attempt to knock the glass out of the shuttered, single window regardless.  
  


“Yes, Gregory, I'm aware. What exactly does that have to do with the task at hand?”  
  


Greg rolled his eyes, burrowing deeper into his coat to stave off the chill in his bones. “She's _working_ on her _birthday_. Don't you think that's a touch unfair?”  
  


“You worked through the night on your birthday just past, Gregory.” Mycroft pointed out, remaining entirely focused on the monitor in front of him. “And I've worked every birthday for the past fifteen years, at least. I fail to see what's so awful about Anthea working on her birthday.”  
  


Although he hated to admit it, Mycroft did have a point. He'd worked through his last birthday because neither of them were around, though, so it wasn't really the same. Mycroft and Anthea had both been away at a conference in Europe, which made it easier to stay at work, take a night shift, anything to avoid going home to an empty house as he ticked ever closer to fifty.  
  


“Yeah, I guess... But we're old men, My, and-”  
  


Mycroft's head whirled around before Greg could finish what he was going to say. The resemblance to a pissed off owl was uncanny, but Greg couldn't laugh. Age was a touchy subject for the both of them, personally and professionally, and _especially_ so when they had a gorgeous, intelligent, thirty-something woman in their lives who put them both to shame on a daily basis. Considering that Anthea was twelve years his junior, Greg should have had the most to complain about, but then this was Mycroft they were talking about. The word 'proud' had been brought into being to describe the elder Holmes, after all.  
  


“Oh, c'mon. Don't look at me like that, you know exactly what I mean. She's _young_ , Mycroft. We're in our forties, I'm coming up on fifty faster than I'd like... She should be out with her friends tonight, chatting up foolish twenty-year-old lads in a bar somewhere for the fun of it, not _working_.”  
  


Anthea had been perfectly content to work, of course, but Mycroft understood what Greg meant. On the screen before him, the last part of their trio was working a rather crowded room all by herself. She was doing what she did better than either of them: gathering information without even trying.  
  


“I hardly think she's complaining.” Mycroft nodded to the screen, then, as Anthea engaged yet another high-flying capitalist in what was sure to be a riveting conversation.  
  


Having been poured into a brand new Alexander McQueen gown, Anthea's amicable attitude towards the task at hand was undeniable. Draped in diamonds and towering, confident and elegant, above everyone else in the room, it wasn't hard to see why she was so good at what she did. She held the gaze of anyone that looked her way, cocked a small smile, engaged them easily and without hesitation... Greg had never seen anything more beautiful or anything more terrifying in his life.  
  


“Even so,” He shrugged, giving in to the cold at last and propping himself up against Mycroft's side, “I still think we should be doing something for her birthday. Beyond buying her diamonds and dresses, or a new gun and a fancy meal once we're done here. Something... inexpensive.”  
  


*****  
  


Mycroft couldn't claim to know anything about inexpensive birthday gifts. Though his parents were relatively 'normal' by everyone's standards, they still came from old money. He had never wanted for anything, had never thought of money as an issue, and that privilege left him at a loss when Gregory began to generate ideas out loud. He rabbited on the entire way to the conference hall, where they would be collecting Anthea, and almost all of it washed straight over the elder Holmes' head.  
  


“Something small and simple, y'know? Just because the two of you are posh knobs in your spare time-”  
  


“I resent that.”  
  


Greg laughed, leaning over to land a placating kiss on Mycroft's cheek. “I know, doesn't make it any less true though. Where was I? Oh, yeah- Just because the two of you ' _enjoy the finer things_ ' doesn't mean that you're going to be immune to the charm of an unplanned night just... doing nothing. All of this can be processed tomorrow, you know that, and if we don't celebrate Anthea's birthday in some way that isn't the same as last year, you'll never hear the end of it.”  
  


The small, cheeky smile on Greg's face told Mycroft all he needed to know about the sincerity of that threat. The two of them would go on and on and on about how they missed a golden opportunity or something to the effect. They'd done it for other things in the past; Mycroft didn't doubt his lovers, nor their individual resolves when it came to such matters any more.  
  


“Yes, yes, alright. I surrender to your better judgement on the matter, Gregory.”  
  


Before Greg could say anything more, both men caught sight of Anthea on the steps outside the hall. Having donned the white, faux-fur cape she had dragged out of the bottom of her wardrobe at the beginning of the week, she looked absolutely extravagant.  
  


“Like something out of a Hollywood classic...” Greg sighed, all too aware that his 'heart eyes' were on display for the world to see.  
  


Beside him, Mycroft was no more composed. Knocked speechless, his fingers tightened briefly against the Bentley's wheel; Greg covered one of his hands, all too aware that his partner found it difficult to articulate how he felt, more often than not. With one last scrape of his lips over Mycroft's smooth jaw, Greg got out of the car to go and collect their much loved missing piece.  
  


Anthea met him halfway, leaving her decorum on the top step. She dropped into Greg's waiting arms, a smile warming her face as she clung onto him tight. It had been a long, hard night, and she was more than a little exhausted. It wasn't exactly a walk in the park, aiding an investigation by wandering around a crowded hall, eavesdropping and coaxing information out of wealthy industrialists with more money than common sense. She just made it look easy, is all.  
  


“God, I've missed you.” Anthea smiled, leaning back enough to press a fleeting kiss to Greg's lips. “What I wouldn't have given for one of you to be in there with me tonight.”  
  


“Or to not be working on your thirty-fifth birthday, for that matter.” Greg offered, tucking Anthea into his side as they wandered down the steps towards the car.  
  


She hadn't even considered that. Work was work, no matter the hour, no matter the time of year. She had worked through more holidays and birthdays than she could remember, in truth, but it came as standard with the sort of work she did. With her job description covering bodyguard duties, being a personal assistant, any and all necessary espionage... Well, it wasn't exactly likely that she had regular days off.  
  


At the car, Anthea stopped at the driver's side and waited for Mycroft to wind down the window. After making sure that there was no-one hanging around outside the hall, she dropped down and presented him with a quick, sweet kiss.  
  


“I missed you too.” Anthea reassured him, allowing herself to be chased for a second kiss a second later. “Home?”  
  


“Home.” Mycroft confirmed, looking to Gregory. “Unless any other plans have been confirmed?”  
  


Not wanting to complicate matters on the pavement, Greg helped Anthea into the front passenger seat, before climbing into the back. He shuffled forward and draped his arms over the front seats, a hand on both of his lovers at once. He had a plethora of ideas bubbling away in his head, but it would all depend on what Anthea was up for. She had been working, after all, and it was her birthday, not his.  
  


“Well, the way I see it...” Greg pursed his lips, leaning his head down against the side of Anthea's as he spoke, “There are a few options, and only one of them involves going home straight away.”  
  


*****  
  


If anyone had asked how the three of them ended up in the back garden at half-past eleven that night, surrounded by champagne bottles, none of them would be entirely sure.  
  


Mycroft had shot down Greg's idea of getting takeaway and watching James Bond quite early on. Anthea hadn't been swayed either way, so the offer wasn't missed by any party. The proposition of wandering around London and making the night up as they went along seemed a bit too adolescent for them all – even Greg, once he'd spoken it aloud – so that had been permanently shelved. Instead, they went home, and the rest was truly a mystery. A mystery that had involved champagne, a cold pasta dinner and cake, if Greg could remember the small details correctly.  
  


“We need a... a... thingy, um- House, a house, somewhere outside the city.” Greg mumbled, rolling onto his side on the grass.

 

Anthea lay between the two of them, her gown hitched up around her stomach, diamonds safely put away inside the house. Mycroft had his arm under her head, his hand fixed against Greg's cheek, even as he spoke. Both of them regarded him with amused frowns, missing the point he was trying to drunkenly communicate with them through the power of thought alone. When it became obvious that neither of his lovers possessed the power of telepathy at present, Greg huffed and gestured haphazardly at the sky.  
  


“A house, outside London. Y'know where the... the lights and stuff aren't so bright, yeah? Could see the stars then. Properly. Not like blots and blobs and fucking _planes_ every five seconds.”  
  


Anthea snorted against her arm, trying to muffle a peal of laughter that had managed to squeak out. Any attempt to hush her on Mycroft's part failed, and he resigned himself to simply lying there, looking at the stars. He was rumpled beyond any usual means anyway – hair a mess, shirt half open, jacket discarded on the patio, waistcoat likely gathering grass stains, barefoot and careless – and he felt no shame in being captivated by the dark sky above. Greg continued to frown at Anthea even as she tried to smooth out his forehead with her fingers, pressing on his skin and giggling all the while.  
  


“Look, just- Stop _frowning_ , Gregory, you'll give yourself wrinkles.” Anthea chimed, stroking his cheek affectionately. “I was just, I didn't _mean_ to laugh. It's just a little bit funny, that's all. You never wanted to live the... What did you call it? The high life? _That_. Yes, you never wanted anything to do with it, when we all met. And now you're thinking of getting a country house-”  
  


Greg laughed along when Anthea interrupted herself, shoulders shaking as she giggled at how silly it was. She rolled against his chest, shuddering through the last of her laughter, bared legs prickling with goosebumps that she couldn't quite feel. Mycroft's hand was bent up, pressed against her collarbone, and he could feel each laugh vibrating through her chest, joined by Gregory's only a second later. A smile spread across his lips as he watched the skies, content to let the two of them get the giggles out by themselves.  
  


“What do you think, My?” Anthea piped up, twisting a little to spot him lying back there.  
  


She was wiping her eyes very, very carefully as she rolled back over. One leg hooked up over his thigh to get his attention, her bare foot brushing over the grass beneath his knees. Mycroft tilted his head, fingers combing through Anthea's hair, her expression expectant where his was blessedly vacant, for the first time in a long time.  
  


“Have we corrupted him, do you think?” Anthea pressed, pulling on Greg's hand to make him roll closer to her. “Made him a _posh knob_ like us? God, whatever will the world think-”  
  


“You're both monsters.” Greg huffed, burying a laugh against the crook of Anthea's neck. “Absolute monsters... What have you done to me?”  
  


Mycroft could only roll his eyes. For one approaching fifty, Gregory was far more suited to Anthea's off-beat, youthful humour, and when the two of them ganged up on him, he was as good as done for. With a comfortable amount of Taittinger in his system, however, he was more willing to be on their level.  
  


“I believe we've brought out the very best in you.” Mycroft added, rolling over to help sandwich Anthea between them. “You've blossomed from a classic to a vintage in our care, my dear boy.”  
  


With Anthea tittering away between them, Mycroft leant over to share a long kiss with his silver fox, who had been previously out of reach. Greg huffed as he parted his lips, the two of them not quite meeting all the way as they tried to deepen their drunken mess of a snog.  
  


“Hey-” Anthea nudged Mycroft when she looked up, spotting her two lovers trying and failing to make out above her. “That's not very nice, leaving the birthday girl out. You two are the real monsters.”  
  


That was all it took to secure their attention. The two men parted – albeit a little reluctantly – and levelled Anthea with almost identical looks. There she was, wedged between them, wrapped up in flowing drapes of teal and turquoise silk chiffon, dark hair splayed out across the grass... She wasn't Old Hollywood any more, but she was just as beautiful, if not more so. It was a stark reminder of just how lucky they were to be together, the three of them. The silver fox, the suave diplomat and the deadliest beauty either of them had ever met.  
  


“...Beauty and the Beasts.” Greg sounded as if he'd reached the meaning of life when he spoke up at long last.  
  


Anthea couldn't breathe for laughing. She could taste the champagne bubbles as she hiccuped and rolled onto her front, clawing her way across the lawn, away from such an awful joke. She swayed the entire time as she got to her feet, holding her nude heels and the hem of her very expensive (and now very grass stained) gown in one hand. Greg had his head in the dirt, laughing away, while Mycroft struggled to stand and navigate his way over to her.  
  


“How many beasts does it take to put a beauty to bed?” He asked, winding his arms around Anthea's waist as she squealed.  
  


Greg stumbled onto his feet, catching himself twice before he made it to the path. He tickled Anthea's legs as he wrestled with them, until he could lift her up and support her, with Mycroft holding her shoulders.  
  


“Oh, only two, I'd say.” Greg grinned, letting her legs fall after Anthea had shrieked and laughed quite enough; the last thing they wanted to do was wake the neighbours at this hour.  
  


“Only two?” Anthea giggled, putting her shoes down on the path so that she didn't drop them. “Maybe my beasts should get to work then, hmm? Birthday girl wants her handsome gentlemen to take her to bed before she-” A yawn broke free of Anthea's lips, crumpling her even expression for a moment before she continued. “Before she falls asleep in the garden.”  
  


It took ten minutes of fumbling for Greg and Mycroft to get their arms under Anthea's bottom and around her shoulders, two trips up the stairs and more fiddling with clothes than they'd ever admit to, before they even got close to going to bed. Anthea wiggled between the sheets in one of Greg's old t-shirts, as did Mycroft; Greg was left with his boxers and very little else, considering his partners were so insistent on 'sharing' all his clothes.  
  


But, even with all the fumbling and fussing that it took, Anthea couldn't think of a better way to round off her birthday than being right there, in bed with the two men she loved and who loved her just as much in return.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this Alexis (and everyone else), even if it is pure silliness from start to finish. Happy belated birthday love!


End file.
